He huffs at that, a laugh that's little more than breath, picturing it. At least he's not quite that immature, he's restricting his anger issues to his own space. Better if he didn't break anything at all, but even a good man isn't a perfect man.
(Maybe it should be more uncomfortable, cracking half-serious jokes about sleeping with her when she's kissing his hurts like someone's mom, but that's how things are with them.)
He smiles-- with his eyes more than his mouth, as usual-- and gives her fingers a good squeeze.
Carol is definitely a mom. Even though there's no more Sophia, no more Lizzy or Mika, that's not something she can stop being. It's not that she means to, well, mother Daryl, that's definitely not the way she sees him, it's hard not to have some of the same gestures of affection come to the surface even if it's not meant the same way.
"You wanna... hang around a while?" The playfulness is gone but her tone is light enough, this is neither a joke nor a solicitation. Just a request for company -- perhaps not just company if that's how things end up but it's hardly that sort of invitation, her primary reasoning is wanting him close and suspecting that he could use the same.
That may be a lot to convey with just tone, even as well as he knows her. So she half-smiles and adds, "I hope you know what I mean because I can't think of a better way to say it." Not without getting overly descriptive and weird, anyway. "I'd just rather not be alone."
It might be stranger, more conflicting, if Daryl was remotely used to being mothered. He was young enough when his died that what pleasant, caring memories he has are dulled by time. Mostly it was just his father and Merle, neither very present, which sometimes was for the best. He's not that used to any kind of nurturing, which makes it hard to pinpoint what his reactions to it mean. Which is a large part of why this is so goddamn confusing if he lets himself try to sort it out, try to find some way to make sense of it by the standards of society.
But society's gone and they're not. When he lets himself remember that things are infinitely simpler.
He gives her a long look as she asks and clarifies, hesitates just a little. He can't help the occasional deer-in-the-headlights moment. But after that moment, he nods, hums a vague affirmative and shifts so he's sat more solidly on the end of the bed. Truth is, he understands exactly what she means.
Part of her wonders what Daryl's reaction might have been to an actual proposition, but it is very much not the time. She'll stick with that for now and not think too much about whether she would have, or will ever, seriously ask.
Then again, he may just take it as a joke.
Carol is too overcome with gratitude at his agreement to focus on the hypothetical for long. She wasn't on her own for long before meeting up with Tyrese and the girls, just long enough to know she never wanted to endure it again; such a simple act on his part but unspeakably significant to her.
She stretches out on the bed to reach her shelf, picking up a deck of cards and making a gesture with them that's equivalent to a shrug. "I don't have much else around, but..." Honestly, she could just rest together in silence, like on the couch those few days ago. But if he wants the distraction, that'd be fine. She understands. They're not terribly used to an abundance of thinking time.
Truth is, part of Daryl wonders the same thing, particularly since that business in the hallway. He's not sure he'd be able to tell the difference, if she meant it; but then, if she were willing to ask she'd probably be willing to prove it. At any rate this moment isn't the right one for that. If he's looking for a distraction, that's not the one he wants.
He leans a little, putting an arm further back to steady himself, not quite comfortable enough to sprawl across her bed because it is a little bit weird, even if it's not as weird as maybe it could be.
"You wanna play Go Fish?" he asks, amused and a little dubious, almost smiling. Not quite, but almost.
There's a strip poker joke in there somewhere; she sidesteps it in favor of laughing, really laughing, at his suggestion. Sure, the idea of a kid game brings back some memories she'd rather not entertain, but the very idea is just too funny to react any other way.
"If someone asked what we did alone on my bed for hours, just imagine their face if we said 'Go Fish'. I'm sure it'd be priceless."
Making her laugh, he'll take that. Both of them need cheering up. There's a nagging little part of him that thinks there's no time for that, that Rick being gone puts them in crisis mode, that he's got problems to solve, shit to do. But there's no fire, there's nothing to be done, no reason he can't take some time for himself and for her before he sets to work. (And he will set to work, he'll find work to do if nothing presents itself.)
"Better'n solitaire," he says, the threatened smile finally breaking.
Since... You know... You play that by yourself and all.
That joke is worse than terrible and so she laughs even harder, just for a moment before flopping back onto her pillow. "God, I needed that."
When's the last time she really laughed? She can't recall. What comes first to mind is washing laundry in the quarry with Andrea, Amy, and Jackie another life ago. It's less funny now that none of them are around to share the memory. Carol used to laugh so often, but that was gone long before the world ended. She's glad that part of her isn't completely buried beneath bitterness and battle scars.
The little smile he's wearing, that's as good as a full grin from Daryl. He relaxes halfway, letting himself lean more, propped up on one elbow, his legs still hanging off the edge of the mattress. God help them if this ever actually goes anywhere; dirty talk will be off the table, they'd never manage without laughing.
The silence that lapses is a comfortable one, though. He'll work himself back into a knot of worry sooner or later, but this is good, this is hopeful. Daryl's particular aggressive kind of optimism- more a belief that things can work out if he just wills it hard enough- doesn't work if he can't first make himself believe it'll be okay.
Carol doesn't think she'd mind a hearty combination of sex and laughing, really. At the least it would make a good story later on. Not that her mind is going there just yet, now she's just happy to be happy, however temporarily before reality hits home again.
She flips the cards back onto their shelf; if Daryl looks carefully, they've never been used. She doesn't know why she keeps them around. Then she lounges on the bed, head propped on her hand, leg stretching out to gently nudge Daryl's arm.
Given time and adequate reassurance that she's laughing with him and not at him...shit, if you're not having fun you're doing something wrong, right? But for now just joking around is progress enough. He's overwhelmingly relieved that things haven't gotten weird between them, but not quite ready to push any further.
He lifts his chin a little, drawing himself up as best he can, which given his position, is not actually that much.
"Mm-hmm." Actually now he looks smug, but because it's Daryl she'll let it slide. After seeing how he was standing at the sink she'll take smug a thousand times over. "You should be. I don't laugh much anymore."
For a long moment, she just looks at him, her smile still present but softened. "So I guess I owe you something good." Perhaps he can tell by the look in her eyes that she knows she doesn't really owe him, the two of them don't tally favors toward one another in search of a zero sum, but she would like to do something for him anyway and it would be fine if he'd make a suggestion.
Resilience is a necessary life skill where they're from. It doesn't hurt any less, the loss, but they bounce back, they function, they put it aside. He had his moment of grief; the smugness is half bravado, mostly because it makes her smile. But he's in better shape already. Has to be.
His smile fades a little, not because he's displeased exactly, it's just how he is.
"Mmn," he murmurs with a slight shake of his head. It's a joke, he knows, but he hates the idea of owing or being owed, especially with Carol. (Besides, she does so much for him. More maybe than she realizes.) Whatever they are, it can't be transactional, or he can't trust it.
No transactions here, Daryl. Just the sense that Carol wants to make him happy and he doesn't always feel like he deserves to be, so she'll find any made-up excuse she can to get him to accept a good deed here and there. Although she knows if she just asked earnestly enough he'd probably accept most anything she asked of him, she'll save that for the important matters.
"Tab, huh. Guess I'd better get started." She pats the area beside her on the bed. "C'mere." They'll be by no means cramped for space, it's a sizable enough mattress, but if he wanted to stick close that's fine by her.
Unlike before, she leaves her meaning wide open to interpretation. But neither of them is in the mood for anything too intense and she knows it, so she really has no plan beyond taking a load off, both mentally and physically. (Although he might get a back rub out of it if he wants one.)
Rationally that might make sense, but he doesn't tend to look at himself and his reactions in a rational light. He just doesn't think to let her spoil him. It doesn't always occur that she might enjoy taking care of him, that it's not just an unfair drain, if he lets her. (Of course, he likes doing things for her just fine, but he doesn't think it all through.)
If she's going to invite him, though, he's not going to shy away. Even if he's a little uncertain where things are going. (There will, probably, never be a time when he's not uncertain.) On the other hand the position he's in isn't really conducive to looking sexy as he half-wriggles up onto the bed properly, stretching his legs out and falling heavily beside her. Comfortable, real beds, that's a luxury he is still savoring on a daily basis.
But he's not gonna be bashful, he's well within arms' reach, looking over at her, guileless and trusting.
Unfair drain... if Carol could hear his thoughts she would thwack him upside the head, or at least threaten to. Maybe one day she'll get him to start believing how immensely important he is to her; likely no time soon. Which would be sad if she let herself dwell on it, so she chooses instead to focus on how readily he laid beside her, without any apparent hesitation. That's more than might have happened not long ago. (If he'd tried to look sexy about it she might have started laughing again so it's for the best.)
Casually shifting closer, she starts with an easy win: idly playing with his hair, rubbing his head. She's good at this, experienced at tactile headache removal though perhaps out of practice. Carol studiously avoids thinking about how she acquired this particular skill, it'll be better for both of them if it's just a thing she knows how to do, of unspoken but probably obvious origin. Much like some of his survival skills.
Being important to each other is the one thing he doesn't doubt, hasn't doubted for a long while. Now and then a thump on the head might do him some good. At any rate he's more willing to take chances here. Or he has been. The reminder that either of them could vanish without warning is a bit of a damper.
Still.
He's not thinking about her past, or his own, for once. He'd be much more tense if he was. He's not really thinking about anything, just relaxing under her touch, vaguely wondering about what they can do later, tomorrow, to keep the house in order, to move on in Rick's absence, eyes half closed.
Carol smiles at his expression, he looks peaceful for a change. So she keeps doing what she's doing, absently humming a half-forgotten song to herself. If Daryl fell asleep that would be just fine by her, he probably needs the rest. Even if when he wakes he'll probably be consumed with finding something productive to do come hell or high water.
She rests her head on a folded arm, getting comfortable herself. Focusing on applying the right pressure to Daryl's temple is so much easier than focusing on grief that she's a little irritated with herself for not discovering this until now. In fairness they didn't have much idle time back home, nor privacy, but even so. Some things are worth stealing a moment for; else, why bother staying alive at all?
If he starts to make a habit of falling asleep in her bed, sooner or later people are bound to talk. Truth is he couldn't care less. For now, though, he's not ready to drop off, though it might do him some good, she's not wrong.
For a while he doesn't move, just breathes, slow and even. It could be so perfectly normal if not for the circumstances, if not for Rick having gone. It would be nice to have a nice moment without some disaster, minor or major, to spur it, but some things aren't so easy. Maybe they ought to be, but it's a hard balance to strike, using the time they have without setting themselves up to lose everything when that time runs out.
That's what he's thinking, and he feels like he ought to say something meaningful about it, but he's never been the kind of guy who says meaningful shit. So he just looks at her, long and thoughtful, and with any luck maybe she'll understand some of what's on his mind.
It takes her a second to catch on, just humming along and focusing on her hand running through his hair. When Carol glances down and meets his gaze, her melody stumbles and her fingers pause as she seems, yes, to be getting something from that look.
Maybe she's not grasping his exact meaning, maybe she doesn't need to in order to know the part that matters. Her smile softens and she leans forward, the tip of her nose bumping his temple. Not quite a nuzzle, but affectionate and meaningful in its own way.
It strikes her that she's being a bit careful just now, not something she'd have thought about herself anymore. It's been a while since she had something to lose by being too decisive.
It's one of the few bright spots in their world, the volumes they can speak in silence, the way they can read one another. For Daryl, it's hard enough to admit and deal with his feelings; having to verbalize and discuss them, half the time, it's enough to send him back into defense. Which never goes well.
He half-smiles, tipping his head back slightly, a bit like a cat bumping its head against someone's palm.
This might be careful, but it doesn't strike him as fearful, it doesn't even seem like she's holding back. Maybe he doesn't read her as easily as he used to; or maybe he's just trying to adjust to thinking about this as, maybe, a when rather than an if, which is quite a ways from a maybe if things were just a little different.
The cat imagery seems fitting to her, as well. If only he could purr. The thought keeps here lingering there, her face close to his but no longer touching. Carol relaxes into the pillow, content to just wait for nothing in particular.
There's a lot she could think about now, the experiences they shared and the ones she had to confess, things between them said and unspoken. None of it seems productive, none of it as relevant as the closeness of him and the way he trusts her, still. She never thought she'd have that trust again, even in herself.
It feels too good to be true, time-limited maybe, or it would if she thought about it. But she doesn't.
There’s nothing in this world or any other that isn’t for a limited time only. From time to time, though, it’s nice to pretend.
He half rolls onto his side, the better to meet her eyes, still far more relaxed than he feels he has a right to be. They’re close enough to touch, close enough that it doesn’t matter if they aren’t, right now. Daryl prefers it like this; quiet, understood, without having to say a thing.
Maybe someday they’ll have a moment to laze around like this without the shadow of loss waiting in the wings. Doesn’t seem likely. But holding out hope, for little things or big ones, that’s important. Easy to lose sight of. What he should be focusing on is that they’re both here, for now, they’re safe as they can be and they’re alive, which is no small feat, considering. That should be reason enough to make the most of the time they have.
(But, then, they are in their way, even if he’s not making a move to do anything more than fumble for her hand with his, not looking down. It’s not fear, it’s that he doesn’t want to change things out of sorrow. He’d rather it be clear that there’s more to this than seeking comfort.)
She finds it amazing that she's able to make eye contact and not look away. Lizzy and Mika will forever weigh her down but at least they're not a secret she's afraid to tell anymore. When Daryl looks at her like he understands she knows that he does. She doesn't have to feel like an impostor, some other woman he doesn't know who is failing desperately at being his Carol. She has this place to thank for that; it's as likely as not that she'd never have told him willingly.
Daryl is clear about what there is to this, or rather isn't, at least in her mind, and it warms her heart. The trouble is, from Carol's side, there's nothing she'll do in her life anymore than isn't comfort-seeking. Rick's disappearance is rough but a drop in the bucket comparatively, for her. She knows, though, that for Daryl it's far more than that. He's been Rick's right hand for long enough that he has to feel the burden is on him, now, to lead.
She grasps his hand when it seeks hers. It's not some ambiguous idea of a 'better time' that keeps her from doing more, it's that he thinks there might be one. For her, there won't be. This is as 'better' as it will ever get.
There a times when the world doesn't seem any uglier to him than it's always been, and not because he's sugar coating it now. Other times... Well, that's what makes them who they are, the way they make their choices. They have to survive, and sometimes that means they do things they don't like. Sometimes they get carried away; there isn't a one of them, he thinks, who hasn't strayed, hasn't gone too far. The difference is that when they do they recognize it. It's just as easy for some people to keep on, to pass the point of no return and never look back. That's not who she is, or him, or any of them.
He doesn't know what it means to her, really, losing Rick here and now. Daryl has a hard time wrapping his head around Rick casting her out, he can't begin to understand how he'd be okay with it (but maybe he won't be; he hopes he won't be, he owes her that,) but Rick hasn't done that yet, he's been here. There's never a sliver of doubt in Daryl's mind that he and Rick are brothers, that he's going to stand behind the other man for as long as they've got, but Carol's had her run-ins with him all along. She's trusted him, more or less, but it's always been complicated. More now than ever. She's grieving, though, like he is; if he can offer a little comfort even as he looks for it, that's all to the better.
He's a little too dysfunctional to call a romantic, maybe, but he wants to do right by her if he's gonna do anything. For now he absently twines their fingers together, the tiniest reassurance that they're both still here, together.
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what_wings_dare2014-02-14 08:31 pm
<333
(Maybe it should be more uncomfortable, cracking half-serious jokes about sleeping with her when she's kissing his hurts like someone's mom, but that's how things are with them.)
He smiles-- with his eyes more than his mouth, as usual-- and gives her fingers a good squeeze.
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"You wanna... hang around a while?" The playfulness is gone but her tone is light enough, this is neither a joke nor a solicitation. Just a request for company -- perhaps not just company if that's how things end up but it's hardly that sort of invitation, her primary reasoning is wanting him close and suspecting that he could use the same.
That may be a lot to convey with just tone, even as well as he knows her. So she half-smiles and adds, "I hope you know what I mean because I can't think of a better way to say it." Not without getting overly descriptive and weird, anyway. "I'd just rather not be alone."
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But society's gone and they're not. When he lets himself remember that things are infinitely simpler.
He gives her a long look as she asks and clarifies, hesitates just a little. He can't help the occasional deer-in-the-headlights moment. But after that moment, he nods, hums a vague affirmative and shifts so he's sat more solidly on the end of the bed. Truth is, he understands exactly what she means.
"Maybe none of us should be."
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Then again, he may just take it as a joke.
Carol is too overcome with gratitude at his agreement to focus on the hypothetical for long. She wasn't on her own for long before meeting up with Tyrese and the girls, just long enough to know she never wanted to endure it again; such a simple act on his part but unspeakably significant to her.
She stretches out on the bed to reach her shelf, picking up a deck of cards and making a gesture with them that's equivalent to a shrug. "I don't have much else around, but..." Honestly, she could just rest together in silence, like on the couch those few days ago. But if he wants the distraction, that'd be fine. She understands. They're not terribly used to an abundance of thinking time.
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He leans a little, putting an arm further back to steady himself, not quite comfortable enough to sprawl across her bed because it is a little bit weird, even if it's not as weird as maybe it could be.
"You wanna play Go Fish?" he asks, amused and a little dubious, almost smiling. Not quite, but almost.
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"If someone asked what we did alone on my bed for hours, just imagine their face if we said 'Go Fish'. I'm sure it'd be priceless."
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"Better'n solitaire," he says, the threatened smile finally breaking.
Since... You know... You play that by yourself and all.
Hah.
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When's the last time she really laughed? She can't recall. What comes first to mind is washing laundry in the quarry with Andrea, Amy, and Jackie another life ago. It's less funny now that none of them are around to share the memory. Carol used to laugh so often, but that was gone long before the world ended. She's glad that part of her isn't completely buried beneath bitterness and battle scars.
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The silence that lapses is a comfortable one, though. He'll work himself back into a knot of worry sooner or later, but this is good, this is hopeful. Daryl's particular aggressive kind of optimism- more a belief that things can work out if he just wills it hard enough- doesn't work if he can't first make himself believe it'll be okay.
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She flips the cards back onto their shelf; if Daryl looks carefully, they've never been used. She doesn't know why she keeps them around. Then she lounges on the bed, head propped on her hand, leg stretching out to gently nudge Daryl's arm.
"Don't you look proud of yourself?"
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He lifts his chin a little, drawing himself up as best he can, which given his position, is not actually that much.
"Do I?"
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For a long moment, she just looks at him, her smile still present but softened. "So I guess I owe you something good." Perhaps he can tell by the look in her eyes that she knows she doesn't really owe him, the two of them don't tally favors toward one another in search of a zero sum, but she would like to do something for him anyway and it would be fine if he'd make a suggestion.
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His smile fades a little, not because he's displeased exactly, it's just how he is.
"Mmn," he murmurs with a slight shake of his head. It's a joke, he knows, but he hates the idea of owing or being owed, especially with Carol. (Besides, she does so much for him. More maybe than she realizes.) Whatever they are, it can't be transactional, or he can't trust it.
But he does, he trusts her, so they can joke.
"I'll put it on your tab."
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"Tab, huh. Guess I'd better get started." She pats the area beside her on the bed. "C'mere." They'll be by no means cramped for space, it's a sizable enough mattress, but if he wanted to stick close that's fine by her.
Unlike before, she leaves her meaning wide open to interpretation. But neither of them is in the mood for anything too intense and she knows it, so she really has no plan beyond taking a load off, both mentally and physically. (Although he might get a back rub out of it if he wants one.)
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If she's going to invite him, though, he's not going to shy away. Even if he's a little uncertain where things are going. (There will, probably, never be a time when he's not uncertain.) On the other hand the position he's in isn't really conducive to looking sexy as he half-wriggles up onto the bed properly, stretching his legs out and falling heavily beside her. Comfortable, real beds, that's a luxury he is still savoring on a daily basis.
But he's not gonna be bashful, he's well within arms' reach, looking over at her, guileless and trusting.
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Casually shifting closer, she starts with an easy win: idly playing with his hair, rubbing his head. She's good at this, experienced at tactile headache removal though perhaps out of practice. Carol studiously avoids thinking about how she acquired this particular skill, it'll be better for both of them if it's just a thing she knows how to do, of unspoken but probably obvious origin. Much like some of his survival skills.
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Still.
He's not thinking about her past, or his own, for once. He'd be much more tense if he was. He's not really thinking about anything, just relaxing under her touch, vaguely wondering about what they can do later, tomorrow, to keep the house in order, to move on in Rick's absence, eyes half closed.
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She rests her head on a folded arm, getting comfortable herself. Focusing on applying the right pressure to Daryl's temple is so much easier than focusing on grief that she's a little irritated with herself for not discovering this until now. In fairness they didn't have much idle time back home, nor privacy, but even so. Some things are worth stealing a moment for; else, why bother staying alive at all?
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For a while he doesn't move, just breathes, slow and even. It could be so perfectly normal if not for the circumstances, if not for Rick having gone. It would be nice to have a nice moment without some disaster, minor or major, to spur it, but some things aren't so easy. Maybe they ought to be, but it's a hard balance to strike, using the time they have without setting themselves up to lose everything when that time runs out.
That's what he's thinking, and he feels like he ought to say something meaningful about it, but he's never been the kind of guy who says meaningful shit. So he just looks at her, long and thoughtful, and with any luck maybe she'll understand some of what's on his mind.
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Maybe she's not grasping his exact meaning, maybe she doesn't need to in order to know the part that matters. Her smile softens and she leans forward, the tip of her nose bumping his temple. Not quite a nuzzle, but affectionate and meaningful in its own way.
It strikes her that she's being a bit careful just now, not something she'd have thought about herself anymore. It's been a while since she had something to lose by being too decisive.
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He half-smiles, tipping his head back slightly, a bit like a cat bumping its head against someone's palm.
This might be careful, but it doesn't strike him as fearful, it doesn't even seem like she's holding back. Maybe he doesn't read her as easily as he used to; or maybe he's just trying to adjust to thinking about this as, maybe, a when rather than an if, which is quite a ways from a maybe if things were just a little different.
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There's a lot she could think about now, the experiences they shared and the ones she had to confess, things between them said and unspoken. None of it seems productive, none of it as relevant as the closeness of him and the way he trusts her, still. She never thought she'd have that trust again, even in herself.
It feels too good to be true, time-limited maybe, or it would if she thought about it. But she doesn't.
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He half rolls onto his side, the better to meet her eyes, still far more relaxed than he feels he has a right to be. They’re close enough to touch, close enough that it doesn’t matter if they aren’t, right now. Daryl prefers it like this; quiet, understood, without having to say a thing.
Maybe someday they’ll have a moment to laze around like this without the shadow of loss waiting in the wings. Doesn’t seem likely. But holding out hope, for little things or big ones, that’s important. Easy to lose sight of. What he should be focusing on is that they’re both here, for now, they’re safe as they can be and they’re alive, which is no small feat, considering. That should be reason enough to make the most of the time they have.
(But, then, they are in their way, even if he’s not making a move to do anything more than fumble for her hand with his, not looking down. It’s not fear, it’s that he doesn’t want to change things out of sorrow. He’d rather it be clear that there’s more to this than seeking comfort.)
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Daryl is clear about what there is to this, or rather isn't, at least in her mind, and it warms her heart. The trouble is, from Carol's side, there's nothing she'll do in her life anymore than isn't comfort-seeking. Rick's disappearance is rough but a drop in the bucket comparatively, for her. She knows, though, that for Daryl it's far more than that. He's been Rick's right hand for long enough that he has to feel the burden is on him, now, to lead.
She grasps his hand when it seeks hers. It's not some ambiguous idea of a 'better time' that keeps her from doing more, it's that he thinks there might be one. For her, there won't be. This is as 'better' as it will ever get.
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He doesn't know what it means to her, really, losing Rick here and now. Daryl has a hard time wrapping his head around Rick casting her out, he can't begin to understand how he'd be okay with it (but maybe he won't be; he hopes he won't be, he owes her that,) but Rick hasn't done that yet, he's been here. There's never a sliver of doubt in Daryl's mind that he and Rick are brothers, that he's going to stand behind the other man for as long as they've got, but Carol's had her run-ins with him all along. She's trusted him, more or less, but it's always been complicated. More now than ever. She's grieving, though, like he is; if he can offer a little comfort even as he looks for it, that's all to the better.
He's a little too dysfunctional to call a romantic, maybe, but he wants to do right by her if he's gonna do anything. For now he absently twines their fingers together, the tiniest reassurance that they're both still here, together.
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